Lately I’ve seen an article trending on Facebook about how we all lie through our status updates and pictures. We only post snippets of our day: smiling children, adorable pets, selfies of us dressed up and posed to look our best, and lunch and coffee that looks too good to be true. Apparently, it makes other people feel bad when they see that our lives are so perfect.
Except when did Facebook need to become an accurate representation of our entire lives? I post pictures and anecdotes mostly so that my long distance friends and family can keep up with the happy and precious moments of our lives that they may otherwise miss. Also so that I can remember those moments. I have a very poor memory.
The type of picture I usually post.
Of course I post the pictures where the kids are smiling. Of course I update my status only if something funny happened or we are doing something interesting. But I don’t consider it a lie by omission so much as a public service. For instance, Nicole pooped on the floor during bedtime three nights ago. I did not update my status. I did not post a picture. You’re welcome.
Relaying our best moments isn’t new. Back when I wrote emails, I tried to fill them with mostly interesting and optimistic news. Before that, I wrote notes to my friends during my more boring classes. I tried to make them entertaining. And if I was going to go to the trouble of writing an actual letter and spending money on a stamp, you can be sure it had something worth sharing in it. Well, mostly. There was a brief time in my pre-teens when I sent a ton of letters to a friend that pretty much all said, “Hi, how are you? I am good. I am having dinner now. I have to go.” Sorry, Kelsey.
I like to think that even cavemen are guilty of sharing only the good stuff. That cave painting of Grog killing the mammoth with his spear? He probably sat on a rock for three weeks poking the dirt with a stick when he suddenly looked up and saw a really old Mammoth keeling over. That’s not exactly the kind of story you want to tell around the campfire though, so go ahead, Grog. Tell it like you wish it was.
The type of picture I usually take.
Also I take these.
I’m not saying use Facebook as a place to build your house of lies. But if you want to share just the good stuff, go ahead. If you want to share the more mundane happenings, do that too. I promise I won’t assume your life is perfect if you only post pictures of your family that look like they belong in a JCPenny catalog.
I know your kids are not smiling all the time. I know that sometimes they are chasing each other with blankets wearing nothing but underpants on their heads and last night’s spaghetti on their faces. I know your cats and dogs are not always sleeping sweetly in boxes that are too small for them. Sometimes they are peeing in your shoe when you don’t pet them and leaving hairballs on your pillow. I know that your significant other isn’t always making you pancakes or fixing your sink. Sometimes he is just ‘helping’ by lifting his feet so you can vacuum under them.
Sometimes my kids are cranky.
Often my kids don't wear pants.
Maybe instead of “stopping the lies” by posting “real (and shitty) family moments” on Facebook we can just acknowledge that no matter how many perfect-happy-shiny posts we make, nobody is perfect. We can concede that Facebook, like Fox News, rarely has the whole story.
Please, keep posting all your sunny-happy-perfect-life-is-good pictures. Keep posting all your epic-fail-I-should-have-stayed-in-bed status updates. Keep sharing hilarious memes and serious news stories. Because let’s face it: the more you post the more time it takes me to catch up on all of it. And the more time I can waste on Facebook, the less time I have to do things that are actually productive. It’s pretty much win-win.
I have long considered myself to be agnostic. I’m not ballsy enough to disagree with the six billion people plus that believe in some higher power, but I’m also not willing to join the one billion plus atheists of the world and say that without a doubt there is no higher power. Is this a cop-out? Maybe. But whatever. I’m reserving judgment.
When it comes to the question of the existence of a god (or gods) my short answer is, “I don’t know.” Because who am I to argue that roughly two billion Christians are wrong? Or that one and a half billion Islams are right? Or that one billion Atheists are right? Or that any number of supporters for any given religion or non-religion are right or wrong?
What I will argue is that the question is moot. Whether or not there is a higher power should not affect the way that we live here on earth. We should strive to be good and kind. We should treat others in a way that we would like to be treated. We should help others when we are in the position to do so. I intend to teach my children these values without the aid of any specific religion. I want them to aim to be good and kind not in the hopes of being ‘saved’ or of a rewarding ‘after-life’ but because they are human beings and they are capable of making their choices responsibly.
Anyway, my point is, my kids and I don’t spend a whole lot of time discussing religion. We’ve spent countless hours talking about and demonstrating kindness, manners, tolerance and respect. We speak about valuing ourselves and others in an effort to raise kind little girls who will become passionate and considerate women. We spend even more hours answering the girls’ numerous and varied questions about everything under the sun. And sometimes those questions, or the answers to those questions, involve God and religion.
The first time God entered our conversations was about two years ago, when Allison asked where humans came from. Though I’m sure there are abundant explanations throughout the world, I’m really only familiar with two of the theories. I explained to Allie that some people believe that God created the first two humans, named Adam and Eve, and that other people believe that humans evolved from apes. Allison looked skeptical. It’s funny; when I simplified our origins down to those two choices, I could see which one my four year old, in her world of Disney and Santa and magic, found more plausible.
That’s when it dawned on me: being a Christian had the potential to make my life as a parent much easier. Instead of blundering through lengthy-sort-of-correct science based answers to questions like “Why is the sky blue?” and “How did Audrey’s guinea pig have babies?” I could simply say, “God did that.” When the kids inevitably ask why Haley/Kayley/Skyler from school can have a puppy/x-box/piercing I could say vaguely, “Well, God works in mysterious ways.” And one day when my teenage girls are crying that life is not going the way they thought it would and that they don’t know what to do, I could comfort them with the knowledge that God has a plan for them.
Having God around is kind of like having an elf-on-the-shelf all year long. Because if you hit your sister, God is watching. If you throw mommy’s antique drawer handle down the heater vent, God knows. And if you even think about calling that mean boy at the skating rink a name, God hears. Oh, and when you are finally old enough to go out on a date with a boy? God is watching that too. Obviously I get that Christianity, and any other organized religion, is not about easing the difficulties of parenting. Still, you can’t deny the perks.
Allison’s religious information as of yet has really been on a need-to-know basis. If she asks a question, I try to answer it as honestly and correctly as possible. She knows that many people believe in God, and that we should be quiet during the before dinner prayer at her grandparents’ house.
This past Christmas, her knowledge of Christianity grew exponentially. Every year, our neighbors set up a gargantuan Christmas light display complete with Santa, The Grinch, candy canes and a nativity scene. It was an unusually warm December morning before school that the girls ran across the cul-de-sac to see ‘the baby’.
“Who is that baby?” Allie asked.
“That’s baby Jesus. He was born on Christmas; a lot of people celebrate his birthday,” I replied.
“I have a birthday too,” announced Allison.
The short ride to school was peppered with questions.
“Will you tell me everything you know about the Baby G-fish?”
I explained that Jesus was a man who lived a long, long time ago and that he did many very kind things for all different types of people. I added that many people believe that Jesus is the son of God.
Allison thought for a moment. “Did Geee-zus ever get married?” she asked.
“No, he never did.”
“Oh. I bet there were a lot of women who wished they could marry him.” She paused.
“And men,” she added fairly. That’s my girl.
It was a few nights later that Allison, while we were all seated at the dinner table, announced that, “We could do a pray this year at Christmas Eve!”
“Do you mean a prayer?” I asked.
“Yes! Well, it doesn’t have to be a pray. We could say the pledge of allegiance.”
I’m not proud of it, but I burst out laughing. Chris laughed too, until we noticed Allie hiding her head in her arms, clearly embarrassed. He recovered first. “Do you know the pledge of allegiance? “ he asked her, trying to coax her back out from behind her arms.
She recited the pledge flawlessly, and we praised her exuberantly in an attempt to make up for having laughed at her moments before. I think it was the abundant praise that resulted in the whole family joining hands around the Christmas tree practicing for the big night.
Allison and Chris looked up at the tree, straight faced, and began, “I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America....” I glanced down at Coco, who was swaying back and forth slightly and mumbling, but staring respectfully at the tree. To my credit, I did not laugh audibly.
Later, while Allison worked diligently on creating our Christmas Flag, Chris pulled up a scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas on youtube which mirrored our ‘Christmas pledge.’ It was just as funny when it happened to them.
The latest anecdote from the Book of Allison happened just a couple of weeks ago. We were in the car listening to the song, “You can’t get to heaven on Roller Skates.” Allison was singing along until she wasn’t:
“Well of course you can’t get to heaven on roller skates! But you probably can in a car. With a trailer...in case you want to spend the night.”
Clearly, my daughters' religious information is not complete. But that's okay. They may decide to become Christian, agnostic, atheist or something else. And that’s okay too. I would love for the girls to one day take a class that examines some of the world’s religions, and heck, maybe I’d take it with them. Like my parents told me, “Education never hurt anyone.”
